Computing

Youngsters, today, are an unpredictable lot. There’s no saying how they‘ll react if you feed them the truth, plain and unvarnished. If it’s something particularly distasteful, it might even leave a permanent scar on their psyche. Which is why, being a pious sort of person myself, I do tell them the truth, but only when I’m sure it’s not going to do any harm. If I feel there’s a chance that they’ll be badly affected, I avoid saying anything at all. But if I find myself in a tricky situation and am forced to provide an explanation, I allow myself the liberty to tweak the truth slightly, so long as it’s in a good cause. The other day, I found myself in that sort of situation. Just when I thought I had managed to talk my way out of it, complications arose, and my well meant explanation landed me in a fix.

It happened when I got back after a rather painful encounter with my dentist. I looked in the mirror and grew alarmed at what I saw. It wasn’t much of a face to start with, but after the dentist had had a go at it, it was positively frightening. I thought of my grandson and how I would answer his questions. I could tell him, point blank, that the dentist was responsible, but I was afraid the truth might upset him. After all, he has a life ahead of him; a life that is bound to include many a visit to the dentist. It wouldn’t do, to put him off dentists at such a tender age. Besides, his mother, my daughter, might hold me accountable. So I thought hard about the matter, and before I knew it, there he was.

“Grandpa, what happened to your face?”

“Oh that?” I said, smiling a lopsided smile, on account of my jaw being out to there on the left side. I caressed the misshapen member. “Ever heard of Mike Tyson, the boxer?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I met him when I was out shopping, and felt sorry for him. I thought his style needed correcting and offered to show him how, so he’d have a chance to win back his title. He was very grateful and asked me to demonstrate. I was explaining to him how important it was to keep one’s guard up at all times . . . and do you know what he went and did?”

“What?”, asked my grandson, wide-eyed.

“He hit me with a full blooded left hook even before I was ready. That’s why my face appears a trifle out of shape.”

“Did he knock you out, Grandpa?” asked young Rehan solicitously.

“Certainly not”, I replied. What do you think I’m made of .. . . cotton wool?”

“My God, you could have killed him with that”, observed Rehan who I have always maintained, is a perceptive little fellow.

“That’s all very well,” I agreed, “but remember, I’m a gentleman, and gentlemen don’t allow themselves to brawl with roughnecks like Tyson, whatever the provocation.”

“But are you sure it was a left hook that got you, Grandpa?”

“Of course”, I snapped. “You’re speaking to an experienced boxer, you know.”

“Then I know just how that sneaky mister Tyson hit you, without you being able to defend yourself. He must have hit you from behind. How else could he have landed a punch with his left hand, to the left side of your face?